


Who Has Made All Things Well

by rachelautumn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelautumn/pseuds/rachelautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Arthur live together and work together as veterinary surgeons in the Yorkshire Dales.  Arthur's a throw back; Merlin's a tease, but they love each other and it works.  When they give up something very important just to appease local gossips, however, it damages their relationship.  One cold November day, things come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The North Wind Doth Blow

**Author's Note:**

> For Camelittle's prompt: A crossover with "All Creatures Great and Small".
> 
> The James Herriot books take place in the 30's-50's. This is supposedly a modern AU but it has a flavor of the Herriot eras. That's because I didn't do any real research (sorry!) I just read those books a thousand times.
> 
> I tell you this so that if you know something about birthing cows, Yorkshire, the Church of England or anything else I've mentioned completely on the fly, you'll know that it's only meant to be Trueish.
> 
> Two stubborn men in love are real, though.

Merlin didn't want his breakfast, even though it was bound to be good. There was unlimited toast, already buttered in little racks. The sausages were fresh off the farm, the kind of fresh where he'd probably known the pig it was made from personally. But he was sulking instead of eating. He hadn't seen sun in weeks and it was starting to fray his nerves.

Ferdinand, Arthur's best hunting dog, was definitely interested in sausages. He stayed by Merlin's side as a show of loyalty and also because he knew Arthur wouldn't give him any. 

"Don't even pretend you understand me," Merlin addressed the dog. "You like this weather." Ferdinand thumped his stubby tail once in agreement, before heaving a sigh and collapsing on Merlin's feet. There his wet beard sopped into Merlin's socks. Merlin didn't move. It had been raining the entire month of November; he may as well get wet now and get it over with.

Bloody Yorkshire.

Yorkshire wasn't bad in Spring. Merlin even liked it then. The old stone walls of the Pendragon estate bloomed over with wild roses and the grasses went purple with heather.

It was November that did him in every year.

"I't's warm in London now," he groused, looking out the tall windows to the garden beyond. The undivided windows had been a luxury in their day, when the manor was last improved by some itchy ancestor of Arthur's. They were intended to brighten the dark paneled breakfast room, but no window, however wide it yawned could let in light that didn't exist. Instead it revealed what Yorkshire was in November: Grey, Brown, Squelchy, Cold.

"It is not warm in London." Arthur didn't even look up from his paper. "You'll feel better if you stop standing at the window; there's a draft."

Merlin gave up his post and leaned over Arthur. This close he could smell his aftershave mixed in with the coffee and the faint smell of carbolic acid that hung around any vet, even one as fastidious in his toilet as Arthur.

"In London, I could keep you warm, " he said, "Holding you like this." He nuzzled his nose into the sweet spot on Arthur's neck. "Out at the pub, in front of our friends, on the street. I could kiss you anywhere." 

That got Arthur's attention. He looked up, his blue eyes startled as they sometimes were into revealing the sharpness that lay beneath Arthur's understated manner. Every line in his taught jaw stood out clearly.

Of course, Merlin was caught up in looking at him as he always was and he forgot to follow through while he had the advantage. The moment passed. Arthur shrugged.

"I'm the one keeping you warm and you know it; you're an icicle till June, thin as you are." He smiled when he said it, looking up at Merlin with the conviction that had won Merlin to his side in the first place.

Damned handsome, noble, blonds. Merlin had a weakness, probably hereditary, that had left him helpless before Arthur ever since they met.

Defeated, Merlin collapsed on a chair and poured himself coffee, while Arthur chuckled. He never minded winning, the bastard.

"We could eat in the kitchen" Merlin muttered half heartedly through his toast. "S'warmer there." He slipped Ferdinand a sausage end, hoping Arthur wouldn't notice.

"The kitchen is Mrs. Edmundson's domain." Arthur said. Merlin grunted. "And that means I can't do things I like there."

Merlin scoffed. "You mean you can't pretend your food comes into existence when you appear, like magic?" Not only didn't Arthur cook, he grew up so far from the kitchen downstairs, Merlin doubted he'd ever even smelled a roast.

"No, I can't do things like this." In one flowing movement Arthur pushed back his chair. He unwrapped Merlin's hand from his mug and turned the palm to kiss it. While Merlin was still adjusting his ideas, he pulled him to his feet and backed him against the wall, leaning for a kiss that Merlin was giving up before he'd decided he wanted to yet.

Of course nothing scraped loudly or fell over during this maneuver because Arthur was by nature a predator and unwilling to give himself away with extra sound or movement. 

Merlin allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of being overwhelmed for a moment before fighting back. Merlin was by nature a provocative bastard.

"Bet I can make you late for the council meeting." he said, proud that he hardly sounded out of breath. Arthur growled, but said nothing as Merlin's nimble, surgeons hands undid his trousers and clasped his hand over the thickness there. They both knew he was helpless to resist what Merlin knew about his body, helpless to resist meeting his eyes as Merlin worked that knowledge.

They'd met like this in a toilet somewhere. Merlin had said, "Look at me, damnit!" refusing to go on till the posh, attractive stranger acknowledged him. Arthur said later he'd never looked at the guy he was getting off with before, always looked at hands and mouths and cocks only, hurrying so he could go back to pretending it never happened. But Merlin changed all that.

Now, as that first time, Arthur stared into his eyes and Merlin saw the unlocking of Arthur's defenses, the doors flinging open, leaving the sightline clear before him all the way back into the depths of Arthur, to the final window. 

"I love you" Arthur breathed as he came and shuttered his eyes finally.

"I know." Merlin grabbed a linen napkin and swobbed at the crotch of Arthur's wool trousers. "Um I'm sorry about the mess I'd meant to be neater," he said. Arthur brushed him away.

"You know it's hopeless. I'll just have to change."

Merlin raised his eyebrows pointedly. "So the rush is over then?" Arthur gave his bum a teasing pinch.

"Fine. You little harlot you." Merlin could feel his own smirk in his cheeks now he'd gotten his way. Arthur rolled his eyes, but he wasn't really angry. "In for a penny, in for a pound. Let's go upstairs." 

They went up. After a firm glare from Arthur, Ferdinand stayed behind. Dogs always obeyed Arthur. He would probably even refrain from the stealing the sausages.

Afterwards, Arthur stroked Merlin's hair, gentle, calm. He was unhurried. He knew that the stuffy old burghers on the council would never dare criticize a Pendragon, however late he might be. But something else was bothering him. Merlin could feel Arthur's body stiffen behind him, even as his hand continued its attentions.

"Is it really unbearable here for you?" he asked.

Silence filled the cold room; Merlin knew he didn't have to answer. Arthur could take so much silence and never break. Merlin would break, though. He needed words.

"No, of course not." he said quickly. "I have you and you're out, Arthur. I know that wasn't easy for you. I know Gwaine still has family here and Morgana will be up to visit. Plus we spend holidays at the house in town. I don't need to live in London."

Arthur sighed behind him and went lax again, apparently satisfied with Merlin's response.

Merlin hoped it was true. It was usually true.


	2. And We Shall Have Snow

Up at Dawson's farm it was snowing. Merlin remembered when he didn't know it could snow before December. Now horrible little piles of the stuff were topping up the fence of the holding and disappearing down the fellside and he wasn't even that dismayed. In fact, there was one good thing about it; the mud was probably frozen on Merlin's nemesis, a wet trough by the entry gate that he'd christened Big Bertha. It seemed he never took a call at Dawson's that his car wasn't getting mired in it, or else he fell down and made a muddy arse of himself. Sometimes it sucked one of Merlin's wellies off, and left him hopping about in a wet sock, but it wouldn't happen today. He still walked gingerly across: he wouldn't put it past Big Bertha to turn to ice and slip him up as he got out of the car.

Grabbing his equipment from the boot, he began the relentless ascent up to the actual farm. Come winter he would be guided by the farmhouse lights, but this snow was just a forerunner of the real thing, not blinding yet. He could see the buildings right enough: the original grey limestone cottage and the ugly yellow frame house that was built later, in the building boom of the 50's. He could even see the view a little, where the crags of grey rock gave way to the green waves of the downs. In summer it was breathtaking. Merlin calculated there were approximately 274 days till summer.

"Na then, Mr. Emrys. You're coming alone then, are you?" The farmer peered behind the Merlin hopefully, in case he might be wrong and Arthur might be there after all. Mr. Dawson was one of the older generation of hill farmers, weather beaten, tireless and not a big fan of skinny city boys with nothing to recommend them but a few letters after their name. Arthur of course, he treated with feudal deference.

"Mr. Pendragon is off on a different call, Mr. Dawson," Merlin tried to keep his tone neutral. This man is a national treasure, he reminded himself. His kind is dying out. He thought he could detect a twinge of satisfaction in his mind's voice at the dying out part, but he forgave himself. "It sounds like a routine calving, though. I'm sure between the two of us we can sort it out."

"Hmmm" Mr. Dawson's voice was noncommittal. "Well it's a big job and I only hope you can handle it. There's two of them calving now and one of them is narrow as hell, a tight fit."

Merlin's heart sank. He'd been hoping to have to time to come home for lunch, drink endless cups of scalding hot tea, and maybe even have a little snuggle with Arthur if the stars aligned, but a calving was a long, messy business and two put paid to his hopes for sure.

He was distracted from his misery by a sharp bark. Soon a nose pushed into his hand, as Bridget, the best herder of the farms three border collies and one of Merlin's favorite patients, worked her self into a frenzy of welcome, waggling her butt and romping around in circles. She at least was thrilled to see Merlin, a black and white blur of happiness.

Merlin laughed out loud. This was why he had become a veterinary surgeon and not a doctor; it was all right there at the surface with animals; the love, the joy, dignity, loyalty. Humans were interesting- too interesting, but they clouded themselves up with things that didn't matter. He was doing it himself, right now, focusing on his resentment of the farmer when it was all about his patient. The cows in labor needed him. He had the skills to help. The rest didn't factor into it.

With that in mind, he hurried after Dawson, trying to shorten the distance between them, though he already knew it was hopeless. Long legged or not, no one who had not actually been raised on the fellside could keep pace with a native. Even grandmothers were known to beat Merlin up the grade, who was considered fit by London standards. Arthur, of course, had no problem. He had been scampering up these hills practically since he could walk.

Mr. Dawson led him into a smallish barn. It was dim in there, only a couple of bare bulbs, hanging low over the stalls. The rest of Dawsons herd, Merlin knew, were in a long steel building of the newer type, lit with the miserable efficiency of ceiling length fluorescent tubes. Doubtless the farmer had left the cows here because it was so much closer to where the entrance of the farm. Merlin was glad. The old wood barn, with it's fire hazard fixtures and dim, smelly corners seemed less hygienic but cozier, somehow. 

"So should I check it's just these two then." Cows who were neighbors often birthed at the same time. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been called out for one task and ended up with more. Dawson snorted

"I told you it were two, didn't I?" There was an unspoken "idiot" at the end of the sentence.

Merlin bit back a retort. In fact he'd been near the top of his class in veterinary college. His Professors at the RVC were stunned when he'd followed Arthur to this backwater instead of pursuing a high profile career in London or research work. But Dawson didn't know that.

"Right. Well I'll just have a look then." Merlin suppressed a shudder. One thing about country work. Your big animals required full on stripping off. No point just washing your hands. When you birthed a cow, you stuck your whole arm in.

Merlin shed his layers with regret. The cable knit wool jumper had been a gift from his mum, a heather blue that brought out his eyes, she said. The thinsolate and Merino wool, on the other hand, were tokens of London, bought from JJB sports his very last day in town. His friend Will had egged him on to get the brightest thing possible. They were mauve and fluorescent green which had seemed a smashing idea at the time. Merlin caught the farmer staring at the bright pile of Merlin's things more than once as he scrubbed. Merlin could only imagine what the old farmer would make of his and Will's more flamboyant club wear. He himself seemed to be wearing nothing but shabby grey wool trousers and an over vest. Merlin felt colder just looking at him.

God it was frigid. Even in the barn, which theoretically acted as a windbreak, the draft seemed to suck the life force right out of him. His nipples were so tight, they ached and he could hardly feel the rest of his torso.

It was almost a relief to push into warmth of the cow, at least until she strained. The farmer, clean and dry looked on with interest, lighting a cigarette as Merlin's ulna and radius bones were crushed together by the terrific force of a large bovine uterus. When she relaxed, he was able to feel around. The calf's head was well down. The cow would do most of the work herself, probably.

"Well, there's nothing wrong here. The Calf will be born shortly, I expect."

"Oh aye, you're here for t' needle mostly," the farmer responded agreeably. Merlin grit his teeth. What had happened to his doubts whether Merlin could do the job?. Probably, if Arthur had been here, the farmer would have assisted the birth himself. He'd prolonged Merlin's agony for the fun of it, it seemed. Or, it may have been a test. The Dalesmen, in his experience, were prejudiced but not unreasonable. He had more to prove as a an outsider and a homosexual, to boot, but when he did well it was acknowledged. Best to get on with it then rather than complain.

Soon a wriggly knock-kneed calf was struggling to its feet. Merlin let the little bugger have a few minutes to brace himself in his cold new world before taking the burlap the farmer offered him and rubbing the calf down. In training, this was always demonstrated with pristine white cloth, but the Yorkshire farmers didn't like to waste, so a recycled feed bag it was.

Merlin smiled as the little brown calf staggered towards its mother. They were shorthorns, an old breed gaining popularity again and this was the first such birth he'd seen. The mother hardly noticed as he gave the vitamin and antibiotic injection, licking her calf, lowing with what Merlin imagined to be satisfied delight.

All too soon he was washing himself off with the antibacterial wash from his own kit. He'd refused the hard ball of soap Dawson offered with horror, having been taught that nothing but a true antibacterial scrub could ward off infection. Dawson had just shrugged, smoking in Merlin's face. He could practically hear the man thinking that if the soap was good enough for the Honorable Arthur Pendragon, then who was Merlin to reject it?

There was no point getting dressed again before the second patient. Merlin was shivering so hard he could hardly control his hand by the time he got to her. She was an Ayreshire this time, a real beauty with the tight udder and red and white coloring of the breed.

"She's a prize winner, that'un" Dawson said. "I can't afford to lose her."

Merlin eyed her heaving flanks and rolling eyes with dismay. The animal was obviously in distress. 

"Then why on earth didn't you have me see to her first?" he snapped. For the first time, the farmer met his eyes with respect.

"T'other one seemed further along like" he said. Merlin sighed. That was no doubt true, but only because the Ayreshire was in serious trouble. A malpresentation, probably, maybe even twins.

Sure enough when he felt inside their were two calves tangled up in the narrow space. The one in front was dead but the was hope for the second, larger one behind.

"She's going to need a cesarian." he explained to the farmer, who was now frowning, cigarette forgotten in his mouth. "Can you reach Mr. Pendragon?" He already knew from bitter experience that mobile service was hopeless this far up the fen. The farmer grit his teeth.

"That's going to cost me double now, isn't it? I don't see why I should have to pay just because you know nowt of the business yourself.

And he was the one who'd hoped Arthur would be along to begin with! It was only his patient's suffering that held back Merlin's tirade. She didn't have time for this.

"Mr. Dawson, you've lost one calf in there from your own poor judgement. Now you have a chance to save the other calf and the mother. We've no time to waste. It's safest to do the procedure with two veterinary surgeons if we can. Now may I use your phone?"

As luck would have it, Arthur was not far away at the Drover's Arms when they called. Merlin listened with grim satisfaction as Arthur confirmed Merlin's assessment of the situation.

Yes he did think that two surgeons would be helpful in this case. No, he did not see any reason to question Mr. Emrys' evaluations of the calf's chances. Probably the farmer had worsened the case by attending to the other cow first.

"But we only do what we can, Mr. Dawson" Arthur added at last. His voice held the conviction of hundreds of years of patronage, and- to Merlin's amazed disgust- the tetchy old man accepted Arthur's reassuring clasp on the arm with a grateful nod.

With Arthur there, things went smoothly. Merlin was technically the better qualified veterinarian. He had earned top marks where Arthur had been only average and done more post grad work. In the actual field, however, Arthur's steely confidence made him both an excellent hand at the high stakes art of surgery and a magnet for animals of all sorts. In Yorkshire, at least, they were well matched.

They prepped the site right in the barn on a tarp that Arthur kept for this purpose. Merlin remembered his dismay when he first saw it, but had to concede that what Arthur said was true: it didn't matter how sterile the environment was if the animal was already dead by the time it got there. There was no quick way to transport a cow down a mountain. In so many ways the sheer size of their patients made their care difficult to keep to standard.

This was very much the case now. After the first cut, which Arthur made, as always, he and Merlin acted as one, quietly working in tandem to tie the rope around each of the calf's legs and extremities. The ropes looked crude to Merlin inside a living animal where he expected to see only steel clamps and scalpels in his gloved hands, but even a new born calf was heavy and the ropes were necessary both to ease the weight off of the mother's caretid artery and to pull the creatures free. it took the combined forces of all three men to heave first the dead and then the struggling calf out of the uterus without allowing any little hooves to rupture any organs, and without allowing the movement to jar their patient, or introduce foreign matter into the cavern of her open calf bed.

Merlin did not like open air surgery. So many things could go wrong. And now they did. When the live calf was almost out the cow stirred and started to struggle to her feet. The farmer panicked and started to slacken his hold

. "Pull the rope damn it, man!" Arthur shouted. There was one last squelching sound and the calf was free. "Quick over there!" Arthur pointed to a pile of straw behind the cow where she would be less likely to notice her baby. The farmer started to move, holding his share of the burden and Arthur yanked the rope from his hand. "Not you. You're on the head. Hold the cow down till we can get back."

Merlin knew his cue, sprinting for an injection from his kit as soon as the calf was down, he ran to the cows side where the farmer stared fixedly at his prized cow, as if in prayer, which actually he probably was.

In reality there was not much one man could do to hold over a thousand pounds of bovine in place, but the farmers knew a few tricks and generally if you held the head of a cow steady the rest would follow. Dawson had his palm over the cows sensitive nose, absolutely still. Only his quicker breathing indicated how nervous the tough Dalesman probably was. 

"By Gaw I miss the horns at a time like this." he said, as Merlin depressed the needle and the cow sank back down. Merlin prayed that his guess had been correct. There had been no time to calculate the correct dose, if there even was one for a second round. He watched anxiously for signs that he had gone too far. Was it his imagination or had the cow's breathing almost stopped?

Arthur did not seem worried at all. If anything the crisis had left him filled with new vigor. 

"That's alright then!" he announced, springing to his feet. "I'll just see to the little chap while Mr. Emrys here stitches the mother up." Just as Merlin was about to voice his objections- because the cow might be about to die and everything- he felt her ribs move under his hand, ever so slightly stronger then before. She was fine then. He released his attention to where it always wanted to go. He stared up at Arthur, oblivious to it all, completely certain. He loved him like this.

The thick green tweed suit he always wore on his rounds hid dirt and shed wrinkles, so that Lord Arthur Pendragon looked untouchable as he always was, more beautiful even, stood in the stinking, freezing blood spattered barn. His eyes were bright and if his blond hair was a little sweaty, the light reflecting on his cheek bones more than made up for it. Merlin could not help sneaking a peak at his arse as he leaned over the calf and started rubbing. He knew the farmer saw and was watching him as he bent back over his stitching. Merlin felt embarrassed and then he felt a sharp anger that he should feel shame for looking at his partner of 3 years, and yet another jab at the way the shame seemed to be for him alone because here he was the limp- wristed fairy and Arthur was always, somehow, still a man.

Why couldn't he have fallen in love with Will and stayed in London?

When he looked up, he was surprised to see something like a smile on the farmer's leathery old face. 

"You worked hard, young man." he said gruffly. "Reckon you deserve a drink before you head back in the snow."

Merlin was gobsmacked. Arthur had told him to expect his kind of hospitality on the older farms and he had accepted many invitations already, but he had not expected such kindness here.

"Well thank you, Mr. Dawson. After this drama I could probably use a drink."

"Make mine just tea, thank you Mr. Dawson," Arthur said, clapping Merlin on the shoulder in a hearty, comrades- in -arms sort of way that set his teeth on edge. "I know your elderberry wine and it packs a punch."


	3. And What Will Poor Robin Do Then

When Merlin first came "up t'farm" on his rounds, he used to puzzle the farmers asking to see the old farmhouses. They were a wonder, some from the '20's and '30's, some truly ancient. He'd seen more than one fire place you could practically sit in, a relic of a bygone age when all the households cooking had been done over the flame. Even the newer places had priceless, ageless pieces thrown about. There was one table with the marks on it where some long gone hand had carved it, to make the best of the forced idleness of winter. He'd almost asked the farmer if he could buy it. Merlin had found it being used as an impromptu lean-to, for a pig pen the man had pulled together one season when he had too many pigs. 

The whole fellside was an antique collectors dream. That first week Merlin had fired off a volley of emails to Will. His boyfriend, Hugh, an avid dealer and collector, would be ecstatic at the opportunity to rescue these things..

Hugh's visit lasted for less than 24 hours. It was the only time he had ever seen Arthur look grim and desperate. It was a shock to Merlin. He'd assumed because Arthur had money he would be sympathetic to the urge to hunt up all the antiques nearby. The look on Arthur's face when Hugh mentioned Merlin's email told another story. Merlin knew the signs; the flat mouth, the distant gaze; he was beside himself with rage.

Arthur himself had driven Will and Hugh to a market town on the other side of the fell. "Lots of antiques here, people won't mind parting with," he'd said, refusing to get out of the car. On the way back few words were spoken and Merlin hadn't been able to articulate exactly what had been at stake. He just knew he had failed

So now he stood in Mrs. Dawson's kitchen and did not ask to see inside the old limestone house.

 

Mrs. Dawson's kitchen was a paean to the 50's. The red formica table, the matching counters, even the stream-lined tea pot, which looked like something from the Jetsons and had probably been daring in its time, were not only from that era but preserved in good nick. The only thing that didn't fit was the old Aga. It looked to date from the 30's.and was a clashing off -green. 

"Come in now, Mr. Emrys and knock the snow off." Mrs. Dawson said. Even in jeans and a jumper she looked the epitome of the farmer's wife, flowered apron and all. Melrin complied readily. He liked Mrs. Dawson. Her face was softer than her husband's and her hands were always busy with something. Right now, she was helping her granddaughter, Rosy, spelling out letters in wicki sticks. When she saw Merlin, she quickly rose and put the kettle on. He accepted her tea and sank gratefully into the kitchen chair.

He took a sip of and felt himself unfold into human shape again as heat, glorious heat filled him inside and out. Bless the old Aga in the corner; the old girl may have been from the thirties, but she could still heat a room. There was something off about it today, though, something was missing.

"Where's Samantha?" He asked. There were a number of barn cats about the property, but Samantha was a special case, a prim Siamese that Mrs. Dawson's daughter had picked up from a pet store in Bradford. She was prone to over grown claws and Merlin had treated her often after he finished with the larger animals and always in this room. Siamese didn't do well with cold and on all but the warmest summer days, Samantha could be found on the Aga, where her cream coat and blue eyes matched nicely with the 30's blue enamel. But she wasn't there now.

"Samantha's missing," the little girl murmured. She tugged at the white, woolen tights under her blue school uniform, obviously uncomfortable, but not willing to cry. "Grandmother says she'll come back when she get cold enough, though"

There was a blast of cold air between Merlin's shoulder blades as Arthur came in with Mr. Dawson.

"Ahh that feels good." Arthur rubbed his hands together. "Hello, Mrs. Dawson. Hullo, little Rosy, Where's your kitty, then?" He looked pointedly at the cat's spot on the Aga. Arthur rarely missed a detail.

"T' little cat's out looking after her kittens, the daft thing." Said Mr. Dawson. 

"You don't mean she's gone and had them out side and not in the kitchen?" Arthur said. "She's the last one I would have taken for venturing out and with the cold weather coming."

"No, we locked her in when they came, but she won't stick it here. The little fool took a dislike to the box I put out for her." Mrs. Dawson put a hand on her grandaughter's head. "We've tried to chase her back in, but now the kittens are born she won't give up where they're hiding."

Arthur stopped pulling off his coat, catching Merlin's eye.

"There looks to be a bit of a storm coming up, Mrs Dawson," he said. "I think it would be best if Mr. Emrys and I had a go at flushing her out. You wouldn't want her to freeze out there."

"Oh no. You've only just got warm. We couldn't have that. My husband will be glad to look again, won't you William?"

"Aye, I'll go. I still have the vest on." Mr. Dawson said philosophically. 

"You have to stay here. Lord Pendragon. I've just poured your tea." the little girl said. Arthur smiled down on Rosy as he took his cup.

"That name belongs to my sister's little boy, now," he explained , "So Mr. Pendragon will do just fine." Arthur's voice gave away no trace of bitterness or embarrassment. Merlin himself was relieved that no one called Arthur that anymore. He wasn't sure what Arthur felt about it. Merlin could only guess what it meant to him to give that part of himself away to his sister's child. It was not Morgana who maintained the old house, and kept up with the farmers. It was not her family that inhabited the old manor and kept it from weekenders and wedding parties. She had not come back to Yorkshire. It was Arthur who cared enough to stay. Arthur had given up the title only because he would not have any natural heirs, because he had chosen Merlin.

The door slamming behind Mr. Dawson broke the awkwardness of the moment.

"How is Lady Morgana, then?" Mrs. Dawson asked. "It seems just yesterday she was racing you and Gwaine Green up past the house here for that hiking competition."

"She's well. London agrees with her. Always got into trouble in the country, not like me."

"Well I think you have the right of it. The city's all very well when you're young and you want to go to dances and the like." She sniffed a little and Merlin suppressed a giggle as he imagined Will and other people he knew, twirling around a dance floor in 1940's regalia. "But the country's the place to settle down."

"Still it's nice to see new faces here." She turned to Merlin. "We're so glad you're here to keep Mr. Pendragon company in that big house."

Merlin felt himself pinking slightly. It was rare that anyone made a direct reference to the fact that he and Arthur cohabited, though they all knew, of course, had known ever since Arthur instructed Mrs. Edmunson to make up only one bedroom at the manor.

"It's a beautiful place and a beautiful part of the country." he said. He was sorry immediately. The words were impersonal, and this lovely lady was trying to include him.

"Yes, it's good place, but over large for two people. I always say it's a shame there's no family at the manor."

Her tone didn't change. In fact, part of Merlin registered that she went on to say something kind, something like, "But you're right friendly and handsome, too Mr. Emrys" , but it was too late. His heart had already turned to ice and dropped through his chest cavity at the ugly, kick- in -the -teeth irony of it.

They wanted a family. They were going to wait, originally, but then fate had plopped a child in their laps. Last spring, the Tipton girl had come to them and asked advice. What should she do when the baby was born? The father wouldn't marry her. Her parents wouldn't help, said it was her fault. It was too soon, but for an unmarried gay couple, well more formal adoptions might take years. They offered and she accepted.

Merlin would never forget the look on Arthur's face when he'd first held the baby, Alice. All the things that were not quite finished about him, his slightly off formality, his longing to take charge, those things that were off in the man went right in the father. This was what his authority was for, to protect their child. And he was so gentle. Merlin had leaned deeper into love then, giving himself into Arthur's hands as much as the baby.

Last spring for a fortnight, they had been a family. Then it had been taken away from them and Arthur had given up without a fight. It was not Merlin who was stopping the manor from filling with life. It was Yorkshire and it was Arthur.

Mrs. Dawson's words were like a gauntlet thrown between them.

Merlin forced Arthur to meet his eyes. He watched him sip nervously at a cup that was already empty.

He knew that like him Arthur was remembering the day that Mrs Tipton came by and took the baby away, her hand clamped on her daughter's shoulder as the girl stammered that "Yes, it was all a mistake. There wouldn't be any adoption paper."

He wondered if Arthur could stand to picture Alice, turning that last time, crying at the rough handling, cries still audible as the car pulled out of the long, long drive. It took such a long time for the car to be gone. Pendragon Manor was indeed over large for two.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Before then, Arthur's status, and being known from childhood had protected them from ugly whispering. That was before the incident gave focus to misgivings that people were otherwise to polite to mention. As soon as Mrs. Tipton went about the place, talking about an unnatural environment for a child and how she had saved her granddaughter from being raised by two poofters, Arthur had stopped going to local concerts and dances. He felt disqualified from opening the Church fete or singing in the choir. Events among other vets and local tofs were safe, but the rest of Yorkshire life, ironically exactly that life that Arthur had insisted returning to Yorkshire to enjoy, he now avoided. He was afraid. Or worse yet, he was complicit. He believed he did not deserve a child and he had dragged Merlin down with him. They never even talked about adopting now.

"You know what," Merlin found himself standing and putting on his coat. "I think I'm going to help Mr Dawson look for Samantha."

"Don't go," Arthur croaked. "You'll catch your death."

"Good," Merlin said and he didn't care who heard him.


	4. He'll Sit in the Barn

There wasn't more snow, but the wind was a player now, not just cold but aggressive. Merlin saw how it flattened the grasses under eaves that had escaped the snow. He felt it pull at his coat. For a moment Merlin thought of going back to the warmth of the kitchen, but he didn't. He wanted to feel that Samantha in front of him had more of a claim than Arthur behind and if he got numb in the middle, well that just made it easier to drum out other kinds of feeling.

"There's a pile of straw round the back" Dawson said, pointing to an old barn, hardly more than a lean to now. Merlin raced towards the spot, driven by the need to move as much as anything. He heard the surprised grunt as he passed the farmer.

"I see her!" Merlin shouted. There was a flash of smoky fur under a hedge between the straw and the old barn wall.

"I'll come round one side and you come round the other." The farmer called. Merlin nodded, not even trying to raise his voice to the wind. He crept, feeling cartoonish trying to be quiet when the wind already robbed every sound. This time the farmer got there first. Samantha shot out right between Merlin's legs. It was this maneuver that proved her undoing because Merlin lost his balance and landed on her tail. Shocked, she jumped straight into his arms.

"I've got the kittens, 3 black and white 'uns anyway," Mr. Dawson called. His hands were full of little furry balls that he seemed to be shoving down his front. It was the best thing to do, of course, but Merlin couldn't help thinking it looked like he was eating them somehow.

"You've got them all?" he called, trying to do likewise. Samantha was a grown cat and frantic and angry and Merlin got more than one scratch in the face as he tamped her down his front. Finally he closed the top over a pair of furious blue eyes that reminded him of Arthur, the way he looked when Merlin tried to take his picture.

The wind was blowing the wrong way for Merlin to hear what Dawson replied. The calculus of his feelings had long since swung back anyhow, to the warmth and the safety of the kitchen and Arthur there. Samantha, too added a vote, beginning the siren like yowl of her kind.

By the time Merlin stumbled in, he was ready to make amends. Little Rosy hopped to her feet.

"You found her! You found her!" She cried, abandoning her place to at the table to grab Samantha from Merlin. It was a testament to the good nature of the Siamese that she purred audibly in response to her little mistress, though Merlin knew she was not happy with her confinement.

"Did you find the kittens, Grandad?" Rosy asked. She had huge grey eyes a little wide set. Merlin saw the old man waver a little before them and he knew.

"All but one, Rosy" he said. "We didn't see the creamy one."

"Millie" the little girl corrected. Merlin thought she might cry or shout, but she was stoic. Growing up on a farm meant facing death young. "You're not going to go back for her, are you?"

He shook his head. "No point now, I'm afraid. The storm's picked up and you can't see a thing out there. No telling where it is and it's most likely dead already. Probably the last time she was moved, I'm sorry."

"I'll look for her," Merlin heard himself interject.

"You should get home, Mr. Emrys. It's dangerous to drive already and will only be getting worse."

"That's my lookout, Mr. Dawson."

"Mr. Emrys," Arthur looked drawn. He did not know that Merlin wanted to make it up. "We really need to go. The road's going to be impassable soon and we won't be able to drive safely."

"We could stay here if need be." Merlin knew that this suggestion would make Arthur uncomfortable. It was Arthur who offered succor to the farmers; not the other way around.

"Merlin." Arthur spoke sharply. "We have other responsibilities. It would be foolish to risk our lives on the off chance of finding one animal that has most likely died of exposure already. And we have other patients as well, lower down the fell who might encounter an emergency."

Merlin wondered if Arthur knew he had called him by his first name. It had not gone unremarked by the family, hanging back now, busy with crockery and murmuring to the little girl so as to leave them some privacy.

"It won't hurt to look one more time. You give up too soon!" he said, louder than he intended. Arthur did not say anything; they both knew he was no longer talking about the kitten and what could Arthur do about the other thing now?

The walk back to the car was one swirl of snow and misery. They were in Merlin's car - Arthur had let a friend from the Drover's Arms take his car back to the manor- but Arthur took the wheel. Merlin let the silence build and build as they wound their way back down to Darroby. Normally, he gave in first. He opened his mouth and he couldn't help it. He bridged the gap back to Arthur and Arthur always took him in because inside of Arthur was a warm, giving space made entirely to house Merlin; it was just that Merlin had no choice but to go there as soon as he spoke. It had become a prison of sorts. This time he wouldn't go. This time Arthur spoke first.

"I was worried about you, you know, insisting on going out in the storm like that," he said, "You don't know the Dales, how the weather can turn."

"Hmm." Merlin traced something into the fog of his window. It was not so blustery here lower in the dale. Arthur took the opportunity to tease, as he sometimes did, as if Merlin was 20 years younger and not just two.

"And you wear jeans expecting that under stuff to keep you warm; it's all a fad, Merlin. That's why it comes in fluorescent green."

Merlin thought of Will's laughing face as he'd peeked at Merlin in the fitting room of the sport's store, of the sales assistant's stiff look, scandalized not because merlin and Will were so obviously flirting, but because he was a ski instructor and took his layers seriously.

"Do you mean that it's faddish or faggish?" Merlin said in a bitter voice.

Arthur whipped around, petulant. "Don't take the cheap shot, Merlin, just because I don't choose to dress like a Uni student."

"Are we going to pretend that wearing a suit in a barn makes more sense than wearing jeans?" 

"I'm warm enough." Arthur said "And I look as the clients expect me to look."

"Of course, and we all know we have to be what the good people of Daroby expect." Melrin spoke in a sneering tone that he recognized from his team of inner voices. It was not often let out and never at Arthur.

Arthur opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Since Arthur wouldn't defend himself, Merlin went on. "I had a lot of offers you know, to join a practice in London. The lab where I did postgrad wanted to take me on. And yet here I am, trotting off to Yorkshire to follow a man who doesn't feel adequate unless he's wearing a tweed suit. You walk through cow shit for a living, Arthur. Maybe you should admit it."

What was he saying? He wasn't being entirely truthful but the anger had been lanced and the words had to come. 

For Merlin. There was silence from Arthur. Merlin knew of course, that Arthur could retreat like this, but he had always found it so easy to provoke him, from the first time they met. He didn't know that he might just be shut out like everybody else. The beautiful face was so still he hardly knew it.

Merlin hurled more invective into the silence. 

"You know what I think it is? With the suit and everything? You can't exist where you aren't Lord of the Manor. You can't bear to live where you aren't anybody special, just another vet and not a spectacularly good one."

"Well fine. So here you are, to the manor born. And how are we living? We creep around like we're ashamed of ourselves. The only thing we're doing here is making sure Pendragon manor is safe from day trippers because God forbid anyone but a Pendragon should enjoy the place. And, as Mrs. Dawson points out, that wretched house is entirely too large for two people. It's ridiculous." He spat the last word.

Taking care of my obligations is not ridiculous." Arthur spoke slowly, articulating every phoneme. His accent made a bullet of every syllable, the whole sentence a volley of rounds. Merlin had never felt so strongly that they were not from the same place.

At least he'd said something that Arthur felt the need to answer. Merlin knew he did not just refer to the manor and the land it was on, but also to the people of the surrounding hills. Arthur actually believed they had some hold on him, as if he were really their feudal overlord.

"What obligations?" Merlin heard his own slight Irish burr thicken. "You know what people who live in tiny hamlets in Yorkshire need? The internet. They don't need you to take care of them. You know who really needed you to take care of them, Arthur?"

Arthur tightened his his hands on the wheel, didn't speak.

"Arthur, say something."

"Alice. You think I didn't want to protect Alice," Arthur whispered. His face had gone completely white and blank; no need to wonder what he would look like in a casket. Merlin felt a twinge of remorse. His doubt of Arthur didn't extend to that. He knew that Arthur would gladly have died for Alice.

"I think you didn't want to make waves by fighting to keep her."

That got Arthur to turn around in his seat.

"The girl was the child's mother. It would have been ugly and cruel to deny her claim. Don't pretend you don't agree, Merlin"

There had been a moment when Mrs. Tipton first dragged her daughter from the car when he had seen her hesitate at the long driveway. Merlin always thought that if they'd brazened it out then, that she might have been intimidated, might have feared that public opinion would side with Arthur.

Merlin banged his fist with frustration. "We could have tried again, then."

Arthur shook his head.

"You don't understand."

"You're right. I don't understand.". Merlin was beginning to feel that instead of fighting against Arthur, he was somehow fighting for Arthur. "You're free to love who you want and have a child if you want." he said, feeling annoyed as he said it that his heart felt words were coming out like some bland LGBT tract or the concluding speech in an after school special. They were exactly the kind of sentiments Arthur found easy to ignore. "Why won't you listen to me?" he cried out. "Are you such an egotist that you can only listen to people you think owe you something? All this time I've been sucking your cock. Maybe I should have been licking your boots!"

"Don't be vulgar, Merlin."

"Why not? Vulgar seems to be what gets action out of a you. A few ugly words and you fold like a card table. The mighty Arthur Pendragon. And to think what I always admired most about you was how you wouldn't bend for anything."

Merlin waited so long for an answer that he knew he'd lost Arthur. It made him even angrier. What was the point of the money and prestige that Arthur was arse enough to assume was his due if he couldn't use it to protect his child? 

"None of these people need you for anything, but I needed you, Arthur, and were you there for me? "You listened to Mrs Tipton, but who the fuck is she?"

They had arrived. The manor rose up handsome and bright and anachronistic as her owner. Arthur made no move to get out, no sound as he parked, but Merlin wasn't done yet.

"It makes no sense for us to be here, anyway." Merlin punctuated his last sentence with the slam of the car door. "I had the better qualifications. You should have followed me."

He did not wait for Arthur, opened the door without looking behind him, and stepped into the echoing foyer. 

Immediately he was swallowed up in a sea of dogs. He had forgotten them in his haste to retreat from the mess he'd just made. 

There were four shaggy creatures that inhabited the lower rooms of the manor. Alba and Alma were terriers, little scrappy beasts of indeterminate ancestry, who spent most of their time hunting for rats in the barn or trailing after Mrs. Edmunson, and then there were the big dogs, Perla and Ferdinand. They were both hunting dogs, tireless on the field, Arthur claimed. Never having shot any birds, Merlin didn't see this side of them. The dogs he knew were couch potatoes and devoted friends, always eager to be with Arthur and Merlin no matter what they were doing, but especially fond of lying around watching telly.

Merlin had come into the house, pretending that it was not his home, not acknowledging the person behind him, but of course a dog would not tell that kind of lie. Alba and Alma raced to scrabble their claws on the knees of his trousers, and having added to the scratches there, rushed to Arthur behind him to repeat the greeting.

Perla and Ferdinand, were calmer than the terriers. They stretched and yawned before approaching, wagging their stubby tails a bit. There was no mistaking the affection, though. Ferdinand trotted away for a moment and returned carrying the toy from his bed, presenting it to Merlin and Arthur by way of saying hello. Perla too, had her greeting object, a silk pillow she'd hastily grabbed from a chair, so as not to miss a moment leaning against Arthur.

Merlin looked into Ferdinand's wise eyes as he tugged at the toy and he felt ashamed. The dogs knew they were a family and would never do what Merlin had just done, try to wound, on purpose, pretend not to love. Merlin glanced over to see Arthur's face, but he was bent over Perla,

Perla was Arthur's favorite of the dogs, a white Spinone bitch with the light, human eyes of the breed. Being female, she was tidier and cleverer than her brother, though still big boned and goofy.

Ferdinand eyed Merlin mournfully with his drooping hazel gaze. He was more of an orange and white creamisicle color, heavier boned than his sister with feet like saucers and a pink nose like an oversized rubber. He stank generally, in a sort of warm, oily hound dog kind of way, and often more particularly of food he stole or some horrible scat he'd found. Perla always smelt benignly of the Camomile in the herbal shampoo that they used at the practice.

"There's been a call." Arthur said. Misery had rewritten the lines of his face, but he was not going to say anything yet. He hand was on Perlas' head, stroking the long ears that were the only soft spot on the wiry dog. His other hand held the phone from the entry desk, tightly. Merlin could see he drew strength from petting Perla and he felt jealous, a little, that the dog could comfort Arthur, even though he was the one who had torn him up.

"Where to?" he asked. His voice, unlike Arthur's was hoarse.

"It's just colic. I know you don't like horse calls. I'll take it." Arthur nodded to him, hanging up. His voice was curt, the way Merlin had heard him talk to strangers he didn't like, dismissing them all the same: dogs, phone callers, lovers. His face held no expression.

There was a whoosh of the door and Arthur had gone. He took Perla with him.

Ferdinand pushed his wet beard onto Merlin's hand, hoping for a scratch. He looked up at Merlin under his eyebrows.

"What is it, Ferdinand?" Merlin found himself asking. "I can't help it that he took Perla and not you. We're not in Arthur's good books now, you and I. Maybe you should have laid off the sausages." 

The dog sighed and whuffled in response. Merlin wondered what he wanted. It wasn't dinner he was missing. Mrs. Edmunson fed the dogs. Probably the lazy animal wanted to go to sleep.

Sure enough as Merlin headed for the stairs, Ferdinand loped ahead of him. He wasn't supposed to sleep upstairs, but he also knew that the rule was Arthur's rule and that Merlin didn't care. Merlin didn't know how he knew this was the case since he and Arthur always slept together, but he was grateful, for once, that the stubborn Spinone knew his own mind. He didn't think he could bear to sleep alone, though he probably deserved it. Merlin had just broken something and he didn't know if it could be repaired.

Merlin stripped off his outer clothes, leaving only the bright under layers. He hopped onto the bed, felt the mattress give under the weight of the dog. Then Ferdinand curled up right in the crook of his body, as large as a person. Merlin leaned himself into the friendly stink of him and waited to be warm enough to sleep.


	5. And Keep Himself Warm

Merlin slept fitfully. He noted when Arthur got home, sometime around 1 because Perla came and joined them in bed, but he did not hear Arthur's tread on the stairs.

Perhaps he had stayed in his study or one of the guest rooms. Part of Merlin thought he should get up and find out, but Merlin was good and warm now, wedged between the two large dogs. He wasn't even sure if he could move. Arthur might have had a point about not sleeping with the dogs. On his last attempt to roll over Ferdinand had started paddling his paws and chortling, too busy chasing his dream prey to budge. Perla was no better; when Merlin nudged, she just gave a dainty sigh and edged closer. And Merlin had already said too much. It was Arthur's turn.

Merlin's thoughts crept towards Arthur without his body, anxious to find their anchor there. If only Arthur would come, would yell back, then Merlin would know who they were again. He had said a lot of things, most of them true, few of them fair. They had needed to be said, but without Arthur's response he didn't know which things needed to be acted on. Did he have to leave? What would Arthur give to make him stay? If only Arthur would take his hand or slap his face, he would know in an instant.

He was nervous about what he had said in the car, not just because it was a fight and a fight where he had said things he had never let out before, but also because he didn't know if he was right.

He had told Arthur that he was just a man, nobody's protector. Was it true? Merlin was not sure he would love Arthur so much if it was.

To have the attention and devotion of a man like Arthur Pendragon was a heady experience. Arthur took responsibility-it was arrogant, it was presumptuous, but it was real. When he gave, it was from a deep store of confidence that could only come from some source beyond his own lifetime. It might very well be from the Dales, from their reluctant springs and overeager Novembers. 

God help him

All the other people Merlin had ever liked seemed flat by comparison. Would Arthur become like them, fade into the ordinary, if he was plucked from his miserable native soil?

Merlin fell asleep again, trying and failing to imagine an Arthur who was just the same in every way except that he wanted to live in London.

The next time he woke, before dawn, it was to a strange noise coming from a downstairs, a murderous, desperate, unearthly sound. He identified it after a few moments, as howling. Both Ferdinand and Perla were missing; probably it was their howling he heard. He'd only ever heard it once or twice before. Spinoni didn't get worked up over nothing.

Merlin hurled himself out of bed imagining a burglar or some other emergency. From the bottom of the stairs he could see the outline of a man at the door; he approached cautiously and then relaxed when he recognized Arthur, leaning with his cheek against the glass. Merlin waited to hear his voice or for the knob to turn, but nothing happened. The Spinoni, who were indeed waiting at the door, leapt up over and over, uncharacteristically frantic, whining and trying -unless Merlin's eyes deceived him- to aim for the knob.

Their desperation told him what his brain was having a hard time understanding. Arthur was incapacitated somehow and could not open the door. He flung it open and Arthur staggered into the room. He looked terrible, ashen and blue lipped and he was clutching his stomach. Dread erased any other emotion from Merlin's mind. He pushed the dogs away and ran to Arthur's side.

"My God, Arthur what's wrong. Did the horse kick you? Did you get a wound somewhere?"

Arthur leaned into Merlin, looking up with a loopy, beatific smile.

"Only thing I hurt is my heart, Merlin, or maybe my ego. Probably more that" He sat, abruptly on the landing, still holding his stomach. Merlin grabbed his head and looked into his eyes. The pupils were widely dilated. Arthur seemed unconcerned, though, resting his cold cheek on Merlin's upturned hand.

"Arthur, are you drunk? What happened to your stomach?" Arthur didn't respond. Merlin shook him. He opened one eye.

"Thought you were the cracker jack Doctor, Merlin. M'not drunk. Just stayed out too long."

Merlin could have kicked himself. Hypothermia. It was textbook, the cold body temperature, the mild delirium. He had been distracted by the situation and by the odd way Arthur was holding himself.

"But what happened to your stomach?" Arthur unbent his arms, slowly, as if they were a wooden dolls'.

"Open my coat"

Merlin obliged, pushing the buttons through the wool- the completely inadequate wool, damn the man for a fool- with trembling hands, dreading what he would find.

There plastered against the heather green of Arthur's suit jacket was a tiny, beige kitten. At Merlin's touch, it opened it's miniature mouth in a silent mew. 

First Ferdinand and then Perla walked up and sniffed the little thing. Finding it of little interest- it didn't move and couldn't be eaten- they found the softest rug in the hallway and lay down to wait. Only the occasional trembling of their eyebrows showed that they were keeping an eye on the proceedings.

"You went back to Dawson's and searched until you found the kitten." Merlin tried to keep his voice flat, but hysteria started creeping in as he contemplated the idiocy of searching all night in a storm, dressed as Arthur was. "Are you crazy, Arthur? You could have died! You of all people should know that. You said so yourself only this afternoon. What were you thinking?"

This time when Arthur smiled he looked more like himself.

"I was thinking you were right. I gave up too soon."

Merlin could feel his grin overwhelming his face. He'd been terrified when Arthur submerged himself in silence. He could have been thinking anything, could have been planning on leaving, even, but it turned out he had been listening. Going after Rosy's kitten showed how much, even if it was mad and reckless.

"You know you could have just said so."

Arthur just shook his head and Merlin felt all his love for this generous, domineering, impossible man start circulating around his body again.

"Thank you." Merlin kissed Arthur. He was startled by the stiffness of his lips. It felt nothing like a mouth; no way into the body should ever be so cold.

The gratification he felt at inspiring such a brave act sank back into panic.

Quickly he felt Arthur's pulse; it was a little sluggish, but not too extreme. Ignoring Arthur's protests, he pushed him onto the stairs and removed gloves and socks, also serviceable wool and absolutely sopping. He must have gotten snow over the top of his boots. The idiot. There was no sign of frostbite, though. Probably the warm up in the car had been enough to stave off the worst of it. 

On the other hand, Arthur still wasn't shivering, which worried him a bit. Merlin sucked in his lip. The kitten really was the more urgent case, but he didn't want to just leave Arthur when he could hardly move. He put the kitten on the stairs, and ran to the closet and dragged out several of Morgana's fur coats.

"Here. Turns out these abominations are good for something."

It was the work of a minute to undress Arthur, even sluggish as he was. Merlin's fingers had felt those buttons a thousand times. Arthur rarely wore anything else and of course, there were no "faddish" clinging under layers. Soon he was excavating cold clammy skin that did not feel at all familiar. Arthur was a furnace, usually.

"Why Merlin, I thought it would take longer than this to get you back in bed." Arthur gave a numb-lipped version of his playful grin. Merlin's heart ceased squeezing his chest. Clearly Arthur's big mouth was warming up a bit.

"Shut up, Arthur. I'm trying to attend to my responsibilities."

Arthur eyed the fur coats. 

"Finally getting me in drag doesn't sound very responsible Merlin."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Please, of the two of us, you are exactly the type. I bet you played all the buxom blonds at the drama society for your posh boy's school."

Arthur snorted which Merlin took to be tantamount to an admission. 

Arthur's body was much more cooperative than his prattish mouth and in moments he was smothered in overlapping layers of fox and mink. Nothing showed but his cowlicked blond hair at one end and two fine boned, elegant feet at the other. He looked ridiculous and very sexy, like the undergraduate he must have been once, getting tipsy and losing his virginity to some rakish Third Year in the cloakroom.

"You look positively delicious." Merlin said, paused for a moment at the doorway. "But you should really tuck your feet in."

"See to the kitten, Merlin." Arthur said.

"Right!" He sprinted to the kitchen, holding the little fur ball to his chest. She looked a wreck. Her fur was still damp and bedraggled, covered with the straw that must have both kept her alive and left her hidden in the storm. The poor thing's eyes were closed. The sooner he got some warm milk in her the better.

Mrs. Edmunson's kitchen was original to the house. It was huge and low built with old tables and older fireplaces right alongside dishwashers and other conveniences. There was almost nothing soft in it, however. He grabbed one of the terrier's round beds from the corner, not surprised to find it unoccupied; it was an open secret that both little dogs slept with Mrs. Edmunson. He plopped the whole thing on the Aga, and placed the little kitten inside. She turned and tucked her wisp of a tail, already more comfortable.

"You like the stove, don't you? " he said. "Like mother like daughter," he added, laughing as she tried to move her head to his voice. He felt golden, all the worry he usually felt when facing an unknown outcome swept up in the relief he felt to unexpectedly recover two things he thought he'd lost. 

Millie mewed. "Oho! Taking me to task, are you?" Merlin was delighted that she'd found her voice. "Don't worry. I know you need to eat. I'm at the fridge already." His hand hovered for a minute over the pasteurized milk and the stuff in the jug that Mrs. Edmunson had from her daughter's farm. He chose the fresher option, thanking God for modern appliances as he heated it quickly in the microwave. He soaked a bit into the tip of a dish towel and held it over the tiny mouth.

One drag, two....on the third pass the mouth opened and the kitten began to drink. Merlin watched in rapture. He'd had dreams when he first qualified of creating a new vaccine or a new procedure and saving an animal's life. This was a small triumph, really, nothing like those first fantasies but it was no less miraculous for that. And there was something more. He was not just a trained vetrinarian, applying his knowledge to a furry puzzle, he had an awareness of Millie that extended to all the parts of her life when she was well. He knew her mother and the stove she sat on, and the name of the little girl who had missed her. His own partner had brought her home to this old hearth. Knowing all the things around this one little life, it was all the more delightful when she opened her eyes and stared into his, eyes round and blue like Samantha's.

Was this what Arthur felt, he wondered, about everything in Yorkshire? Was this what he would be giving up in the city?

Thinking of Arthur, he placed the sated kitten back on the bed. He'd have to check back before long and feed her again, but she would be fine for the time being. Already, the heat of the stove was fluffing up her coat and she looked to be a beauty, the only one of the litter that showed any Siamese coloring.

When he got back, Arthur was shivering, uncontrollably.

"I feel terrible," he complained, as soon as Merlin rounded the corner. "I don't think these ridiculous furs are helping at all, Merlin."

"You're shivering, so you're better already, I should think." Merlin watched with amusement as Arthur attempted to force his face to frown. He was a terrible patient, he recalled, sullen and demanding. Thankfully he was rarely sick.

"Why don't you run me a bath?" Arthur whined. Merlin handed him the tea he'd made in the kitchen. Arthur stared at it morosely.

"Don't you dare ask for whiskey," Merlin warned. "You know it's not good for hypothermia."

Arthur muttered something, but drank the tea down dutifully, his elbow popping out of Morgana's too short coat as he did it, in a flirty, girlish way. Merlin giggled. This time Arthur's frown succeeded.

"You could run me a bath you know, since you're all warm and cozy. Probably got warm sleeping with the dogs, too and now they'll be spoilt for weeks."

"You're right." Merlin said, "The both of them boxed me in while you were gone. I don't know how you know when they're naughty like that. You must be a mind reader."

"I'm not a mind reader, I'm afraid." Merlin's giddiness vanished at Arthur's serious tone. Their eyes met and all of Merlin's words reappeared between them.

"I know I should have something earlier, when you asked," he began. "I guess I just thought it was November that got me down and it would pass."

Arthur's shivering and chattering sloshed his tea a little and he cursed. "Best save this for after I've had my bath." Merlin did not miss the change of topic. If Arthur wasn't ready to talk, he could wait.

"I'm not giving you a bath!" 

"Whyever not!" 

"Because it would burn and interfere with your circulation, you clotpole. Don't pretend you don't know!"

"Fine, I will start my own bath, since you won't listen." Arthur heaved himself up, shedding layers of fur on the stairs as he strained towards the next landing. Merlin attempted to stop him, grabbing a slick pelt only for it to slide off and fall heavily to the floor. Poor Arthur was left naked and almost sobbing with rage.

Merlin couldn't help laughing.

"Oh you are so lucky I don't have a camera." The flicker of hurt in Arthur's eyes stopped his laughter. He took Arthur by the hand and dragged him up, hurrying the limbs stiff with cold. "Come, we'd best get you to bed before all my good work is undone."

"I don't see what you've done." Arthur muttered, "Apart from dress me up in Morgana's clothes and make fun of me and refuse to get me a bath."

Merlin patted his chilly bum. It had always looked a bit like a greek statue's so it was not odd to find it cold as marble. "Sometimes the best medicine is knowing when not to act." he said, just to be irritating. He caught a little scrap of Arthur's answering grin, under the chattering.

The bed was already laid with two duvets of eiderdown and a wool blanket. Merlin hastened to pull them all over Arthur's naked body all the way up to his nose. They still smelt a little of Ferdinand, he noted. Then he started to strip off his own clothes.

Arthur pushed the blankets from his mouth. 

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm going to warm you up with my body heat?" If Arthur had a cooperative bone in his body, Merlin had never found it.

"Your scrawny arse couldn't possible warm me up. Fetch me a water bottle, damn it!"

"In a minute." Merlin tucked himself over the marble version of Arthur's body, trying to get his narrower frame to cover more of it. He felt a bit like a spider or a lichen. "I want to get you a little warmer and then we can do the bath."

"Hmmmm." Some of the fight was going out of Arthur as he succumbed to drowsiness. "You do feel like a hot strip of something, sort of randomly arranged on parts of me. I suppose it will do."

"I'll take good care of you, you'll see, like you take good care of me." Merlin felt something tighten in his throat as he made the promise.

"Do I take good care of you, really?" Arthur rallied long enough to give Merlin one look at his piercing stare.

"Yes, yes, we'll talk, but yes." Merlin lay his head on Arthur's quaking chest until it stilled and he fell asleep.

It lasted all of five minutes. Merlin woke up to a horrible sensation of cold. They were both shivering now.

"Oh no, you were right." Merlin was relieved to see mostly amusement in Arthur's eyes. "I'll call the dogs."

You will not! The whole room stinks already. You know, I can tell you gave Ferdinand your breakfast."

"How do you know it wasn't Perla?"

"My Perla doesn't fart!"

Merlin laughed, kissing Arthur's indignant mouth. It was a mouth again.

"I'll start your bath, then."

"See that you do."

The en suite had underfloor heating. Arthur hadn't said explicitly that it had been installed for Merlin, but the fact was it got there around the same time that he did. Merlin slid his bare feet gratefully over the floor, unwilling to break contact with the warmth even for a moment and turned the taps to the cast iron tub. Ordinarily he cursed the the time it took for the hot water to come up from the boiler Arthur had insisted on installing downstairs, but this time it was perfect. Arthur and the bath could warm up together.

"Arthur, can you make a dash for it?" he called over the thunder of the pipes.

"No need to shout, Merlin I'm here." Arthur stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his pebbled nipples. He took one step forward.

"No!" Merlin called out, but it was too late. Arthur hopped back as if he was burned.

"Too hot"

"I tried to tell you!" Arthur grimaced and then held out a quaking hand. Merlin took it and led Arthur on tiptoe into the bath, almost dancing a minuet. It was the most reliant Arthur had ever been on him; he had never even opened a door for Arthur before; he got there first as if his life depended on it.

Sat in the half filled tub, Arthur let out a sigh.

"You going to join me?" He lolled his head back and looked up at Merlin with lazy eyes, half way comfortable finally.

Merlin wrapped a towel firmly around himself.

"Not on your life. You do know that temperature's relative, don't you?"

"I was rather hoping you'd get into the cold for my sake and then wait to enjoy it later." 

Merlin shook his head.

"Is that a double meaning kind of sentence? Because after the things I said to you, I don't think you need to be shy. Also I don't do symbolic suffering, only real suffering." Merlin turned to the medicine cabinet and extracted a thermometer. He handed it to Arthur. "Let me know when it reads higher than 37 degrees." He turned away, only to snap up short when Arthur's hand clamped on his wrist.

Merlin's heart raced. Here it was. He'd opened his mouth one too many times, and here it was.

Arthur pulled until Merlin had to choose between stepping in the bath and falling over. He flung off the towel and stomped in. Arthur's eyes glittered. He tugged again and Merlin fell on top of him. Arthur clenched his hands around Merlin's hips and lay back again, all the laziness in the posture gone.

"I would move to London, you know, if you asked." he said. Merlin could feel Arthur's cock swelling a little beneath him, felt his own body stir in response. "But you haven't asked."

Now it was Merlin's turn to lose the ability to respond. Arthur leaned forward. One hand clamped Merlin's neck and he spoke closer now; the syllables moved over Merlin's face, nearly kisses. "You don't want to live in London. If you'd wanted a London boy, you could have had one. You wanted me."

"Yes," Merlin shoved away. Arthur was going to try to distract him with sex as he always did. This time they were going to talk. "But I didn't come to the country to hide, Arthur!"

The water was hot now. Merlin could feel it burning part of his back. "It hurts, Arthur. Let me move clear of the tap."

Arthur displaced half the water and himself to sit on Merlin now. Merlin noted out of the corner of his eye that he hadn't splashed the floor, somehow; even the water liked to listen to Arthur. Arthur grabbed his jaw and turned his attention back.

"I don't come here to hide, Merlin. I can't hide here; everyone sees me. But I'm not ashamed of you, of making a family with you as you seem to think I am. Not anymore." Arthur's wrists let drops into Merlin's open mouth as Arthur stroked a thumb over Merlin's brow. "You're so lovely but you're a mouthy bastard, you know that? It's not shame that holds me back and it isn't insecurity either. You think I don't know how brilliant you are? You think I mind? I'm not such a fool as that. I'm not living in the back end of nowhere so people will think I'm better than I am. I don't need to wear a suit, as you say, to feel adequate."

Arthur hovered over him, the water snaking little feelers over his chest and shoulders. No, Arthur didn't need a suit to be adequate. He looked absolutely fine naked. Top notch. Merlin rallied the charioteer and reigned in his lust a bit. 

"I love your suit." he confessed. Arthur relaxed and laughed with his head back only to spring back and pinch Merlin's ear.

"You rotten liar"

Merlin slapped his hand away.

"I don't understand, though, still. Why didn't you say anything? What did Mrs. Tipton have over you?"

Arthur's eyes went absent, the way they had sometimes before when Merlin asked something Arthur couldn't answer. Perhaps this time he would find out what Arthur was looking at inside himself.

"It's just survival, really." Arthur said. "I'm the gentry, or I was but I could just as easily be the farmer or little Alice. The community may die out; I suppose it will, but until then I want to play my part. I don't want to be what tears everything up."

Merlin opened his mouth and Arthur held a finger to his mouth, freezing it over the word "but", so that Merlin had time to realize that his mouth was practically always shaping that word.

"I should have tried harder, though." Arthur said. "There were things I could have done. I should have made more of Mrs. Dawson and less of Mrs. Tipton. I'm sorry."

This time Arthur kissed Merlin. It was an apology and a refuting in one. His mouth was slow, bragging about what Arthur already knew about Merlin rather then trying to push for more. He dragged one hand behind himself over Merlin's cock, not even trying to get him off, just reminding. Merlin placed his hands on Arthur's beautiful shoulders and let Arthur come to him, accepting the kiss,, hardly moving his own mouth. He wanted to finish this conversation without getting side tracked by the kind of communication that had always come easily to them. He gently wormed Arthur off his lap till he landed on his own bum.

"I suppose that makes sense," he said. "It explains why you got so angry that time, about the antiques. You didn't want to be an outsider. You want to do your duty to others and assume that others will do theirs to you. You're a Confucian.

Arthur shuddered. "Thank God my father didn't live to hear you say that. He didn't think much of the Chinese. Still it's better than calling me a coward, I suppose.

"I'm right. You should just take my word for it, now you've already admitted I'm cleverer than you."

"I never said you were wiser, Merlin."

"No." The cruelty of his words came back to him, "And not nicer, either. I'm afraid."

Arthur leaned Merlin back, cradling him on his chest, digging his face into Merlin's neck. His nose was still cold.

"It's all right. I know what happens when you get an intelligent dog and don't give him enough to do."

Merlin whipped around so fast, he elbowed Arthur in the gut.

"I'm not your dog. You're an arse, you know that?" He struggled to his feet, only to find that Arthur's arm bound him down. He had a very sound constitution, did Arthur, to have found his strength so soon.

"I didn't mean it like that." Arthur said, "I just meant that you're trained to do something, so it's natural that you want to do it."

Merlin sank back down. "I suppose being compared to a dog is a compliment, coming from you anyway. But I am doing what I trained to do.

" You've studied to do more. Your professors expected you to do more."

Merlin thought of the satisfaction he'd felt, coaxing Millie back to life. It was enough.

"I don't have to do something just because I can. It was bratty of me to throw it in your face like that."

Arthur kissed his neck but did not deny it.

"There's a program at Leeds," he said, after a moment. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were grateful to take you on a couple days a week, at the lab or even teaching coursework. And it's not so far."

"But what would you do the days I was gone? There's too much work here for one person."

Arthur shrugged and turned off the taps. Everything immediately sounded still.

"I could hire another partner; it could work." 

Merlin had to see Arthur's face. He turned and stared into his eyes.

"There wouldn't be a profit if you divided the practice among 2and 1/2 people and I know how important it was for you to run a real practice. I know you don't want this to be a hobby."

It was one of the things that had wrung surprised admiration out of Merlin when they first met, how Arthur insisted on building a real business in Daroby, not just a charity that would die when he did.

Arthur chuckled. "Well maybe I'm counting on what my partner will be bringing in from his research work. Consider it an investment." He cocked his head. "Perhaps I was also thinking we could take on an intern or two. We have the room, as you so kindly pointed out."

"Why would anyone want to intern here?" Merlin asked.

Arthur winced. "I think the place is pretty bloody marvelous. Lovely view, nice heritage estate, good grub." He laughed at Merlin's face, "But it did occur to me that with so many diseases associated with farming practices that there might be more interest in a rural practice than you think. Especially if we have our own man on site, doing research."

It was a good point. Merlin looked at Arthur's smug, patrician face.

"You know that could work."

"No need to sound so surprised. One doesn't have to be good at maths to have an idea, you know."

"You're not going to give up until I'm happy, are you? Merlin yawned. It had become dawn at some point and it was no longer cold. They were sweating, in fact, in the humid space. 

"No."

"Then I relent. I love you. I love Yorkshire. Not in November, though, I'm not budging on November.

"Good."

Arthur rose up and left him there. Merlin heard him shriek as he opened the door. There was the sound of running strides and an oof as Arthur hit the bed.

"Merlin! make a run for it before you get cold in there and lose all the benefit." 

Merlin repeated the sprint-it was just as awful as he'd imagined. He could practically hear the sucking sound of the heat pulling away from him. The scientist in him knew it was just spreading to the corners of the larger room, but it felt more like the icy fingers of ghosts; a place like this had to have at least a few and they'd probably been cold and grumpy even before they died. 

"Aaaah. Open the covers!" 

He huddled next to Arthur, slimy skin to slimy skin, waiting for the damp to soak away and the heat to start. He thought he was too tired to make love, but Arthur's kisses, once again hotter than his own started down his belly and then he had to retaliate and before he knew it, Arthur was over him and inside of him, and they were more than warm enough.


	6. And Hide his Head Under his Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part contains one skippable explicit scene. The rest is really very sentimental.

Merlin woke up, warmed and flattened under Arthur like a chicken on the grill. He'd long since gotten used to the sensation, so it must have been something else that was needling him away from blessed, blessed sleep.

Millie. She needed to be fed. 

Merlin spared one envious glance at Arthur, stirring a little, reasserting his weight over a pillow now that Merlin was gone, his face all rosy and content. He looked to be having a long, healing sleep. Good. So as not to wake him, Merlin bit his tongue on his cries of agony as he dashed for the wardrobe. He had to have some slippers somewhere, but he found nothing in the messy pile at the bottom of his side. He looked over to Arthur's side where the nice lambswool ones Melrin had gotten him for Christmas sat neatly right under Arthur's dressing gown. Arthur hated it when Merlin got a start on him in the morning by stealing his slippers, but it wasn't Arthur who was about to stand on a cold flagstone floor

Merlin grabbed robe and slippers both. Feeling very married, although strictly speaking he wasn't, he tripped downstairs in his partners' morning things, hoping to shed them and get back in bed before he was caught out. 

Millie was fine. By the light of day, she was even more beautiful, all dainty and creamy. She sucked like a pro, too, at the dripper he'd thought to fish out of the medicine cabinet. he laid a finger on her belly and found it taught as a drum. With a full tank like that could easily survive a morning upstairs with them. 

He hated to wrest her away from her cozy spot, but it wouldn't do for the terriers to come in and find her. They would bark and harass the wee thing, if they found her there. He tucked her in his hand and raced back up to Arthur.

Arthur was already awake, and dressed, just knotting a lavender tie

"What's this? Merlin said, "I thought for sure you'd be having a lie-in. It is Sunday you know."

Arthur turned around. "I thought I'd go to church, actually."

"Oh! " Once Arthur did something, he did it throughly. They hadn't been in Church since before Alice and even then it had been a little difficult. Getting to the Pendragon pew in front, they had walked a gauntlet of curious eyes every time. Now Arthur was daring them all to look, drawing the censure he'd tried to avoid all this time.

"I wonder if you would like to come with me?" Arthur asked.

Merlin shared with the rest of Daroby the opinion that Church was a wonderful place to stare at Arthur. He always wore a bespoke grey suit and some sort of slightly too flamboyant tie. It would be uncomfortable to share the other peoples' stares, of course, but he would not complain. This was what he asked for, the public viewing, together. 

"Yes." he said, "I mean I'd rather sleep to be honest, but yes." His voice trailed away as he saw Arthur take in what he was wearing.

"Is that my robe?" Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin. "And my slippers! And here I was at death's door! I looked everywhere for those!"

"I needed them to see to Millie. And Look how nicely she's cleaned up!" Merlin dumped the kitten on Arthur's chest, figuring that he would forget about what Merlin had done to his robe in the crisis over what was happening to his coat. Millie did immediately began to knead and shred at the fabric of his suit. Instead of crying outrage, however, Arthur simply yanked up his shirt and lay down, opening the softness of his undervest and belly to her sharp claws. 

It was a beautiful sight. Merlin had forgotten. He'd forgotten how Arthur was with tiny things. His hand hovered over her, not quite touching and his face, peering down, was glowing with pleasure as if it was a gift to be eviscerated by Millie.

"There now aren't tha a lovely thing? " Arthur said, "Little Rosy will be glad to see thee, I reckon." His voice was almost unrecognizable. The brisk Northern accent melded with his naturally pleasant voice to make something warmer than either.

"You didn't tell me you spoke Yorkshire." Merlin said.

"Oh aye!" Arthur said, "Almost continually when I was very small. Do you find this voice sexier than the other one?"

"I think you're a pod person," Merlin said. He didn't. It was a shock, but the kind of shock when you see the person you love unexpectedly from a distance and admire them, thinking it's a stranger. "When you said you might as well be an old farmer, you obviously meant it literally."

"You will regret that remark and also taking my bathrobe," Arthur said. He carefully laid the kitten aside, and took rude advantage of Merlin's instinct to track her landing by snatching at the bathrobe tie when he wasn't looking.

Merlin stood there exposed and shrieking for three beats, until the hottest sensation overwhelmed his cock and he realized that he was looking down at a golden head, working over his groin. Merlin quickly went from hiding-from-the-cold limp to swollen hard.

"Oh you look good kneeling in a suit." he breathed. "Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it." Arthur looked up to make sure he saw Merlin's face as he revisited the secret, stretched part of Merlin's arse with one reinforcing finger. The combined sensations were enough to outshout the cold.

Merlin grabbed Arthur's head and fed his cock gently into Arthur's swollen mouth, arching at the same time under the twisting of his fingers.

"Fuck, I love you." Merlin said, trying not to fuck too hard in to where Arthur was already drooling, the lines of his jaw swollen with Merlin's cock, but still beautiful, always so beautiful for Merlin. The pleasure mounted and he felt himself become a little less careful. Arthur picked up the pace of his fingering, plunging with his hand till Merlin felt he was losing track of where the feeling came from. He heard himself grunt in time to the thrust and pull. Arthur fluttered his eyes, looking up at him. He was paying absolute attention, watching Merlin's face and Merlin was pulsing down Arthur's throat before he even knew why that touched him so much. When he pulled off Arthur was laughing, even while he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. It was a happy laugh disguised as a triumphant one.

Merlin threw himself on the bed, nearly missing the kitten, who gave an indignant little mew.

"I have to tell you," He eyed Arthur. His mouth was swollen and smug, but he was battening down the front of his trousers, obviously in a bit of a state. "I'm not regretting the bathrobe."

Arthur kissed him and shared the taste of semen and toothpaste. 

"You will soon." Arthur said. "You have 10 minutes to find something to wear in that pile of yours that isn't actively disgraceful. 5 if you want me to leave you a crumpet. It's Mrs. Edmunson's day off, so that's all there is." He winked and Merlin heard his quick trip down the stairs.

Merlin collapsed in a heap and burrowed himself under the covers. Merlin didn't know why it had to be like this with them, how even knelt in front of Merlin, even ripping off his oldest barriers to keep him, Arthur had to make it a contest. Merlin did the same. He liked it. It was the sauce of them.

He promised himself he would dress in a minute. Being turned into a limp heap was only half of Arthur's revenge he knew. There would be something to look forward to after church that would probably leave him sore for days. 

* * *

Daroby church was medium sized, not the little pile of rocks that perched in some of the lonelier corners of the higher Dales, nor yet a county seat confection of stained glass and marble. It was square and serviceable and old with a narrow aisle that brought them all close together, farmer and shop keeper and the Honorable Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys.

It was a bright day for once. When they walked into the church Merlin felt how the dark closed in on them for a moment before the ceiling opened over their heads and they felt the arches and windows give the lift to the spirit that must have been the fondest hope of the people who built it.

Arthur held Merlin's hand. Merlin felt his heart beat faster. It was odd to get so worked up over contact that would have been nothing in a pub crawl. The first eyes were turned their way, the Greysons and the Evretts. The adults looked out of the corners of their eyes, but two of the children, not adolescents but old enough to know what they were seeing, actually turned around in their seats.

"Ruthie, Stephen," Arthur said and nodded. He did not let go of Merlin's hand

The choir started up, sometime while they walked. Merlin, who had mostly thought of the tins of biscuits served afterwards when he used to go to church with his as a child, was grateful for the cover. He had no idea what to think of now. It was exhausting not to seek out anyone's gaze and yet avoid no one.

After a while he realized it helped if he pictured, not the people themselves, but their animals. He nodded to two Yorkshire Terriers, a barnful of Jersey cows and a Basset Hound, feeling his shoulders relax. Easier definitely, easier.

A hand reached out for his. Ah the Pekinese! He shook his head and smiled. There was no need for the trick for Mrs. Pemberly; she was an ally.

"How's Poohba, Mrs. Pemberly?"

Mrs. Pemberly still wore a hat. It was probably halfway ancient like the lady itself, but they both wore the years well. Her smile and her grey eyes were bright.

"Poohba is spoilt, Mr. Emrys. But don't tell Mr. Pendragon I admitted it."

"Your secret's safe with me." Merlin said and he could not resist adding. "Arthur's rather spoilt himself, you know."

She chuckled. "I'm so glad the two of you came. We need young families in the Church."

He didn't feel like a family quite. He felt like a bride or- he snuck a peek at Arthur's pearl grey to confirm the impression - more like the groom. He and Arthur were walking down the aisle, hand in hand. He hadn't ever imagined this in all the times he'd pictured their life in London, including those fantasies where they had a civil union somewhere.

"Are they getting married, now?" The voice that mirrored his thoughts did not speak his feelings. It was a sarcastic comment. Merlin was not surprised to see it was Mrs. Tipton who spoke.

She was not ugly. She had a rough skin, but even features under a taught bun. Her daughter beside her had the same face, but softened by her youth and loose hair. The father had not made it to church, but Alice was there, held on the lap of one of the younger Tipton children. 

Merlin had not seen her since the day she was taken. He found he could stop looking at her, although it hurt. She was so much larger, so much more robust than the newborn they had known. She had real hair now. You could see what kind of complexion she had, what she would look like one day with brown hair and round blue eyes. The girl who was holding her, jiggled her nervously on her lap, not making eye contact- none of them were making eye contact- and the baby laughed.

Merlin felt Arthur squeeze his hand. Right. Time to move on. They'd faced the worst and now the remaining meters would be nothing. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Tipton." Arthur said. Merlin looked up at him. Arthur's face was clear of resentment. He was doing his duty, showing Mrs. Tipton hers, while he was at it. He had asked for this, asked for Arthur to apply his authority where it counted, but even he had never imagined that Arthur would actually seek Alice's family out. Mrs. Tipton looked equally shaken. She opened her mouth and almost spoke before remembering not to.

"And Sylvia," Arthur turned to the eldest Tipton girl, "You look well. I see motherhood agrees with you. I cannot believe how Alice has grown. She's a lovely baby. She looks a lot like you."

Sylvia shrank down under her shoulders, glancing nervously at her mother, before she spoke.

"Thank you Mr. Pendragon. She's a good baby, I think."

Her voice was nothing but a whisper, but Arthur spoke for any to hear him who might care to.

"I never thanked you for the time we had caring for Alice," he said. "Mr. Emrys and I have wanted a family and we cherished the time we had with her. If there is anything we can ever do to help either of you now, let us know."

He smiled and nodded at each of the family members in turn before continuing on his way, not a hair faster or slower than before. Merlin felt his own pulse jump in his skin. He didn't know what he had expected of Mrs. Tipton: a screaming match in church, vile muttering, a dramatic exit. He just knew that Arthur had spoken and squelched it. He continued up to the very front row, just before the dais, feeling for the first time that Arthur was keeping him safe.

Soon they were stood before Reverend Evans. Merlin expected to hear, "Dearly Beloved" any minute and he laughed at himself as Arthur merely said hello and repeated the greeting, surprised how calm his own voice was. Arthur led him to the pew, in a disgusting display of chivalry for which Merlin would tease him later. After all, Arthur was definitely the bride in this scenario.

But Arthur was not done.

"I was wondering, Reverend, if I might join the choir this morning. I know I've been a bit remiss in my attendance. The animals don't rest on Sunday, you know."

The Reverend Evans was a bit of a dark horse. His face had a stern cast to it, but he also had a cowlick and did not really fill out his surplice and robes. He was one of the those who just seemed draped like a bad slip cover. He rarely showed any humor and on those occasions when Merlin had met him in church or in town he had never any idea what the man's opinion of him or gay partnerships or anything else might be.

Arthur was forcing his hand today.

"I'm pleased to see you and your partner have made it, Mr. Pendragon, though I must say I've heard that excuse before," the priest said, without missing a beat.

Arthur laughed.

"I stand rebuked, Reverend. May I sing, do you think?"

Reverend Evans, whom Merlin now liked a thousand times more than he had before, crooked a hand up to the choir master.

"Mr. Thomas, a word?"

The choir master was considerably older than the priest, all wrinkles and eyebrows. His eyes lit up when he saw who was there; he was a lively man, not really a common type up North.

"Mr. Pendragon, did I hear you were going to join us? We could use another Baritone!" he rocked up on his toes a bit, before turning around and finding a thick folder. "Here you are then. I don't suppose you've brought a robe?"

"I lost my robe unfortunately this morning," Arthur said. His eyes twinkled and Merlin almost laughed. 

"Well come on up anyway," Thomas was already reassembling his choir, elbows stiffening out with the hyper focus of even the most piddling choir master.

Merlin relaxed into being one of the congregation, watching his beautiful partner as others watched him, climbing up the risers and opening his folder, as angelic with his eyes cast down as the choir boy he must once have been.

The church quieted around them. Merlin got the feeling that it was not only ordinary listening, but an aliveness to the moment, to the new expectations that Arthur had laid down and had yet to hear corrected.

"Well Mr. Pendragon," The choir master spoke now, addressing everyone. "Since you've just come back, maybe you would like to suggest a hymn."

"I've always been fond of 147," Arthur said.

"Ah Cecil Alexander." The Choir Master nodded and spoke to the choir and soon Merlin had the pleasure of straining to hear Arthur's voice in the mix of the others. He could not distinguish it, but the words of the hymn seemed to speak directly to him.

All things bright and beautiful,  
all creatures great and small,  
all things wise and wonderful:  
the Lord God made them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the bottom of this fic  
> There is a sweater for you  
> In your color  
> It's terribly warm but  
> Never looks bulky
> 
>  
> 
> The rest of the hymn if you are curious:  
> Refrain:  
>  All things bright and beautiful,   
>  all creatures great and small,   
>  all things wise and wonderful:   
>  the Lord God made them all.
> 
> 1\. Each little flower that opens,   
>  each little bird that sings,   
>  God made their glowing colors,   
>  and made their tiny wings.   
>  (Refrain)
> 
> 2\. The purple-headed mountains,   
>  the river running by,   
>  the sunset and the morning   
>  that brightens up the sky.   
>  (Refrain)
> 
> 3\. The cold wind in the winter,   
>  the pleasant summer sun,   
>  the ripe fruits in the garden:   
>  God made them every one.   
>  (Refrain)
> 
> 4\. God gave us eyes to see them,   
>  and lips that we might tell   
>  how great is God Almighty,   
>  who has made all things well.   
>  (Refrain)


End file.
